Bukowski once wrote

Find something you love

And let it kill you

But i think he got it wrong

Love doesn’t kill us

If we’re not careful

We kill love

We strangle it

We drown it

We hang it by the rafters

And kick the stool out

From beneath its feet

Setting the corpse ablaze

And tossing it from the window

As if beauty is the enemy

Not the cancer within

And we desire

A new kind of pain

Uglier than the first